


Broken Idols

by Brillador



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Action, Attack on Titan AU, F/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Slow Burn, Titans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 12:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11357463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brillador/pseuds/Brillador
Summary: A Rumbelle Secret Santa gift for aieika (@tumblr) from 2014. OUAT/Attack on Titan AU. The Ogres War is drawing to an end, but another threat is not far behind. Lady Belle must find a way to protect her people. Her friendship with Rumplestiltskin, an unassuming spinner who’s more than appearances reveal, puts her in a difficult position. Is the greater good more important than the man she might have deeper feelings for? The fact he has a wife and child doesn’t help.





	Broken Idols

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aieika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aieika/gifts).



He hadn’t meant to break the skin. Only bone. Only enough that he couldn’t fight. Was it the hesitance before the swing that did it, or the overcompensating force with which he swung after his pause? Rumplestiltskin could only remember the hot bile of dread, terror and sorrow burning his throat and stomach, shortly followed by an even hotter blaze engulfing his ankle. He had swung too hard; that had to be it. A bone in his ankle or lower skin split beyond what he’d needed. If he thought about it hard enough as he sat in the confines of his prison—an iron-barred cell beneath Sir Maurice’s castle—maybe a part of him had known what would happen, or what he wanted to happen. Not to be a coward, but to be with his son, his family. His thoughts had been a hurricane in the moment, so he may well have been wishing for an alternative. If only he could be with his newborn boy _and_ dash the reputation he’d carried thanks to his father. Could he not be a hero and a survivor?

Why did the seer have to tell him anything? All right, he did bribe her into explaining what she knew of Milah. Still, why draw his attention in the first place? For a cup of water? Why bother with that if freedom had been her end, judging by the empty cage he found after realizing her prediction of his death would come true. Maybe she saw something in the future that would benefit her if he knew what was to happen.

_That witch_. He could have throttled her, really, terrible thought though it was. She had been but a child, yet a cunning, cruel little devil.

Just as well he didn’t know what became of her. The duke’s army lost interest after what happened to him. _He_ was their weapon. Now he was the one in a cage waiting to be brought out for his sole purpose. Despite his anger toward her, Rumple could reluctantly empathize with what the seer did. He’d do just about anything to be free.

The rude clang of a door being opened sent a shock through his bones. Rumple sat up on the edge of his bench, his one piece of furniture in the cell. He wore only a shift and loose trousers. For some reason he wasn’t that cold. Flashing memories of a sweltering heat in his belly hinted that whatever changes occurred that winter night beside the seer’s cage, hammer in hand and blood trickling out the self-made gash, had left a permanent mark on his normal state.

Another door clanged and groaned. Soft leather against gritty stones followed. His visitors had passed through the second and last set of doors. Nothing obstructed the sounds of their approach. Rumple sat motionless in spite of the blood thumping inside him. Whatever they wanted with him, it would be grim, ugly, bloody. But it brought him one mission closer to going home. So they had told him.

Many hairpin turns and stairways preceded Rumple’s special corridor. He was always blindfolded while being escorted to and from the dungeon. His trips were frequent enough to lend him a picture of the layout. If he could transform now, he’d be stuck below ground, or he’d tear through the castle’s foundations to reach the surface. That being the case, Rumple had to fester in loneliness and frustration.

A trio of figures came into view. Rumple gasped. Two of the visitors, as expected, were guards. Their helmet-free faces didn’t alter the severe, militant and merciless demeanor they and their colleagues exuded on a regular basis. They did not deserve any special attention. It was the person between them, donning a brocaded cowl, who earned his gasp. His spirit felt less fettered in her presence.

He waited for the hood to come down. Out emerged a heart-shaped face, a train of wavy mahogany hair, and the look of warm kindness she always offered upon seeing him.

“Lady Belle!” Rumple said.

The beautiful woman smiled, but something mournful loomed behind her eyes. She asked her escorts to take a stroll down the hallway. She and Rumple were to speak privately. They obeyed while also sending him scowls. Rumple wished he could condemn their distrust more. This arrangement had happened often enough that no one protested, regardless that Belle had not been to visit in a while. It did nothing to change their feelings for the prisoner.

It hardly mattered once Lady Belle was free to approach. The light in here was dim even at midday. Rumple could see most of her face and the wet glint in her eyes. He had seen her up above, too, but never this close. Maybe it was better. Not a day went by that he didn’t think of Milah or ache to be with her. He’d heard of soldiers who, having been away from home a long time, fell into temptation or paid for a lady of the night to ease their lustful pangs. His stomach curdled imagining unfaithfulness. But Lady Belle was very beautiful, and young, and the kindest person. Thank the gods she was too beyond his reach to be attainable. And really, she was more friend to him than anything.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I did mean to come down here much sooner. My father was against it. He—there’s been so much going on. He and the duke and other nobles have finally pooled their resources to bring an end to this war with the ogres.”

Rumple was off the bench and pressed to the bars before Belle had finished speaking. “Really? Then, will I be released?”

Belle’s breath caught like a kite on a branch. It scratched in her throat. He winced. It didn’t portend good news.

“I wanted to tell you myself, not one of the generals. Oh, Rumple.” Her soft hands clasped the bars. She’d been told a few times by the guards to keep her distance. He could ensnare her and use her as leverage for escape. Rumple _had_ entertained the thought the first time she disobeyed. But the notion became disgusting to him after all her gentle attentions. These visits were her choice, and they became precious to him. Rumple guessed that Sir Maurice, her father, had wanted to discontinue these meetings. He was _dangerous_ , after all.

Her tone rose and trembled. Rumplestiltkin moved his own worries further down the ladder of priorities. Concern for Belle and her distress took over his heart. Why she felt tenderness for him, he couldn’t imagine. It was no special love, no, just a generosity of spirit, a sensitivity to other people’s suffering. In the five years he’d been here, barely ever allowed to see his wife and child, Rumple had found comfort in Belle’s company and conversation. They had become confidants, in a way.  He was privy to her confessions. She wanted to see more of the world and do more to improve it. Her love of books had swept her up in daydreams of heroism, sacrifice, bravery. Often these conversations led to Belle taking one of his hands (ignoring reprimands from the guards) and impressing on him how brave he was to face the ogres, alone, and endure this unfair solitude simply because everyone else was too afraid. Maybe he didn’t have full control over the thing he changed into. If so, it proved all the more that his intentions at heart were true; he’d targeted only enemy troops, not their own. The soldiers and nobles should have been praising him, honoring him, instead of shackling him down here like a beast. By the end of her impassioned rants, she was either red-cheeked or tearful. Only once had Rumple asked Belle if she might persuade her father to do what she thought was right. When nothing changed, he assumed too many other men of Maurice’s station were against the idea, or Maurice believed he understood the situation better than his young, somewhat naïve daughter. It made no sense to press her to change anything. Her visits uplifted him enough.

This time, though, Belle’s fretting stemmed from more than his imprisonment. There was something waiting to be said, something she didn’t want to put into words. Caught in her worries, and his, he brushed his fingers over her hand, light as a butterfly’s wing.

Belle’s gaze followed his fingers. They closed while she gulped another breath. “The ogres have moved eastward. They have abandoned the fight. We thought that was the end of it. But we’ve . . . we’ve received word that . . . that the ogres have fled for a reason.”

“Tell me,” Rumple said, urgency overlaid by gentleness.

She dragged in another breath and met his eyes. “Titans. There’s an army of Titans coming our way.”

Rumple staggered back one step. A chill that didn’t come from the dungeon swallowed his fingers, arms, shoulders, neck.

“Wha . . . how?”

At first, the most Belle could do was shake her head and shrug. She wrangled the words. They weren’t needed. Her pinched expression created lines too severe for her beauty. They told Rumple what would be expected of him. And what would likely happen, sooner or later.

It was the night of his cowardice all over again. No hammer could save him this time. To injure himself would do nothing. To draw blood would bring out the monster that had made it so necessary to put him in this position. But how could he . . .?

His own tongue went dry. It lay still, a stone in a pond’s basin. He had to drag it back up with the help of forced gulps. “It’s a death sentence, then.”

“We mustn’t think that.” Her words clashed with the strained voice that uttered them. Belle would not look away, thank heaven. While her glistening gaze pained him, Rumple found selfish solace in their agony. He didn’t deserve her grief. Would Milah be this heartbroken? Surely she must, as his wife, his love, the mother of his son.

Oh gods. His boy.

“I can’t.” He clutched the bars suddenly, violently. He tensed but tried to not appear angry.

Belle flinched. He feared she would back away. He spoke quickly. “Lady Belle, I can’t do this to my boy. My wife might understand if she’s to be a widow. But to leave my son fatherless—I can’t do it!”

“Rumple, please.” Belle came closer, shushed him and cupped his hands. Rumple gave into a sob. She continued: “We won’t abandon you to fight them alone. Scouts have been sent again to learn as much as we can. To learn their weaknesses. This could never be a war of brawns, or we’d lose disastrously.”

“But even so,” Rumple said with depression soaking his tone, “I’m not that . . . big. I’ve heard of Titans as tall as hills. I couldn’t match them.” He gave a weak, broken laugh. “I was the smallest boy in my village growing up. Couldn’t handle the bullies. I had to avoid them.”

Belle rubbed his tense hands with her thumbs. She pressed into his skin more than he ever would her. He was glad for it. It relieved him that she allowed that much intimacy, even as it tormented him with a desire to be held, petted, soothed by hands that loved him. He needed Milah and Baelfire. He’d go mad if they kept him from them any longer.

“We’ll sort something out,” Belle said at last. It was a meek statement, but not without good intention.

“What about my family? Are they safe? Can I see them?”

“Certainly they will let you.” With more confidence, Belle put on a smile. Then, unexpectedly, she seized his right hand, halfway prying it from the bar, and kissed it. “Please be brave, Rumple.”

Be brave. Milah had said the same to him years ago before he left home for the last time. He’d kept his promise. Not much choice. Fighting off ogres once he had the height advantage and the strength to overwhelm them—to tear them to pieces, just as they had done to the soldiers—had not demanded much bravery. But he hadn’t run when he changed back into a simple man, nor when the soldiers hauled him down here. Maybe becoming that monster did make him feel brave; he was the one hope of protecting the lands, including his family, from otherwise certain death. Now, however, the game had changed. Their new foes might eviscerate him in short order. Where would his family be then? What use would he be to anyone? Why die for a lost cause when he could go home and be father to his child for as long as fate allowed?

At the feel of Belle’s lips on his hand, Rumple conceded that he had more to fight for besides his family. She too had inspired him with the courage to jump into a troop of ogres and ignore their clubs and axes and teeth while he broke their bodies apart. He could be that monster for her. He could at least try to hope that all would be well with the seer’s prophecy ringing in his brain.

“I’ll try,” he said.

They stayed together a quiet moment longer, with her cheek on the back of his hand. Then Belle called the guards and left. The hood returned to its perch and cast her loveliness in shadow. Did her father not know she had paid her overdue visit? Rumple noted to make no mention of it in Maurice’s presence. He’d go up soon. All too soon, to be sure. Then again, going up might mean seeing his family. For them it would be worth it. It would be nearly worth it.

* * *

Gods, what had she gotten into?

Belle left the dungeon on the brink of tears. It had happened last time, too, making her just as uneasy. Maybe a month had not been enough to wait before seeing Rumplestiltskin again. How bizarre that for all her emotional turbulence lately, she’d managed to exercise that much self-restraint. Maybe cowardice made it easy to avoid him so she wouldn’t give him the honesty he deserved.

During this past month, her father appeared pleased that her so-called _curiosity_ over the Titan-shifter had died down. Belle had bit her tongue when he brought it up in harmless jest. After five years of regular visits, he still considered her interest so superficial. He was so quick to blame the war for her desire for any innocent distraction, which peacetime would surely eradicate as soon as the next ball took place.

Maybe the idea had an ounce of truth. Had there been no war, Maurice would have fussed noon and night over marrying her off, and Belle might have gone along with it. The threat of imminent death had a way of placing marriage plans in the furthest periphery of everyone’s attention. Well, silver linings and all that.

She regained a rein on her emotions and tear ducts by the time she was upstairs amid the clamor of servants carrying medicine, fresh clothes, bloodied clothes, used rags and bandages, and replacements for them. They were setting up new beds for injured soldiers in recovery from the last skirmish with the ogres. Some soldiers were on their way home, lurching on staffs or crutches or being rolled in carts. If only this could be the end of it. Belle smiled as often as she could to men she passed, but every smile felt like a lie. There would be more casualties. The body count would double against the Titans. They were bigger, stronger and more ruthless. An ogre might just throw you against a tree or tear off an arm or leg. Titans were notorious for eating humans. There might not be bodies to bring home to grieving families.

Something had to be done, and Rumplestiltskin, for all the help he had provided against the ogres, would not be enough. Belle hurried to the upper halls to find her father.

As she thought, Maurice and his fellow noblemen, including the Duke of the Frontlands, were assembled in the war room like yesterday. Intruding on a strategy council was no new feat for her. Belle tiptoed in and maneuvered toward her father. The tall, gallant-looking Sir Gaston spotted her and frowned. He wore that look of befuddlement a lot. She managed a fleeting grin. Gods willing he didn’t try to accost her now or right after the meeting.

She positioned herself at Maurice’s shoulder, shadowed by his height, and did what she did best in these meetings: listened closely and took mental notes.

For all the discussions on where to deploy army squadrons in response to enemy movements, little chatter for a more long-term solution came to the table. Rumple did come up, snaring Belle’s full attention.

“What about the shifter?” asked the Duke of the Frontlands, a bald bearded man of greying years. “We should send him with the primary troops. He’s our best chance right now to keep the Titans at bay.”

Belle opened her mouth without thinking. Before words or any sound could spill out, one of Maurice’s captains spoke her thoughts. “With all due respect, your Grace, we do not have substantial defenses in place should the Titans come to us. We should keep our most potent weapon close. That will make him easier to control, too.”

Yes, that would be better. Not just for Rumple’s sake, but for everyone’s. If she told herself that enough times, she could believe it.

“No, better to have him fighting them away from human strongholds to minimize damage,” someone commented.

The debate continued with equal support for both sides. Belle touched her father’s arm when she noticed he wasn’t saying anything one way or the other. Maurice started, unaware of her presence before. He glanced back. With a smile, he patted her hand and resumed his thoughtful but passive stance.

Belle frowned. She hugged his elbow. The tender touch earned another pat but failed to inspire loquacity. It wasn’t like her father to be indecisive. At any other council she had observed, he was ready with his own arguments to share until his voice turned hoarse. She didn’t always agree with his points, but he had some good ones. His current hesitation perplexed her. If Gaston shared her sentiment, he didn’t make it evident. His attention was engulfed in the rapid back-and-forth across the table map and the pieces that represented the local castles and hamlets. Belle hoped for a chance to speak herself. It was a challenge with everyone else jumping in at every pause.

The side in favor of keeping Rumplestiltskin in close proximity buckled. Gaston got a word in for the other side with assurances that the soldiers could construct new catapults within the week. It might be necessary to retreat to the nearest walled city, meaning the relocation of thousands of peasants. If so, then Rumplestiltskin was vital to buying them time to move and fortify.

“But he won’t be alone, right?”

She didn’t know how her voice broke through the din. When all eyes whirled on her, Belle wished she’d stayed mute.

“Of course not,” another captain said after an awkward silence. “But these creatures are too huge for our armies to do anything against besides a full-scale attack. I suppose we could send our stealthiest archers for support.”

Archers? That was it? Belle swallowed hard. Incredibly, she found more words to say. “Have we no other choices?”

The Duke of the Frontlands regarded her with a gleam in his gaze she didn’t quite trust. He seemed tempted to answer. A baron distantly related to her father spoke up instead. “Young lady, we have been exploring all routes. No scenario is ideal. Frankly, if you cannot offer something, you have no purpose being here.”

“See now!” Maurice tore down the meditative cocoon he’d enveloped himself in. His barking rebuke wasn’t so much a bark as a warning bear’s roar. “I’ll not have you speaking to my daughter that way.”

Maybe in some furtive manner, the old knight had snuck a signal to Gaston that Belle did not notice. The young man’s timing was a little too well-coordinated. His hand at her shoulder propelling her to the chamber doors was so swift she had no time to resist. Anger boiled up, but a scene would not have favored her at all.

Gaston left the war room with her, granting her a rare opportunity to rebuke him as soon as the doors closed and they were safely out of earshot.

“You had no right doing that!” she snapped while shaking off his hand. “I asked a reasonable question. Neither that man nor you have the right to treat me like a child.”

“Staying would have done harm.” Gaston could be so infuriatingly sangfroid, like now. “There’s no need to worry, my love. We will sort everything out. Go help the ladies with their duties to the soldiers. That’s more suited to you.”

Belle would have loved to say what suited _him_ better, but he was returning to the room, and her ingrained aristocratic sensibilities flinched from causing scandal when it would achieve nothing. In truth, she’d not prepared helpful suggestions. Intelligence without handy knowledge had a limited reach.

Ah, she knew what she could do! Her heels clicked on the floor, and her dress fluttered behind her as she ran like an excited baby bird. She went not for the stairs to the converted hospital wing, but up to the library. That place most suited her.

She didn’t mind expending many hours on the hunt for trivia that could save her people from destruction, and digestion. Her research started with the Titans themselves. Little recent literature existed. It was presumed they had disappeared over a thousand years ago. With patience she plucked up tidbits detailing their traits: high body temperature, wide variations in height and strength, skinlessness and bestial aspects in some, and an inclination for human flesh detached from hunger. Most were, thankfully, as simple-minded as animals. A few smart ones might be able to think and plan in a fight. There had to be some who were organizing the Titans into an assault force.

Aside from one vague mention of an ancient weapon that could control the Titans, now lost to history, no other astonishing facts surfaced. Her brain began throbbing with information saturation and weariness. Before resting, though, she had a new approach to try. If Rumplestiltskin and the soldiers belonging to all the regional nobility were not enough to drive away the Titans, maybe someone or something else could turn the tide.

Belle remembered some stories her mother had read to her. There were fables of sorcerers with great power and knowledge. If an ordinary person wanted to enlist a sorcerer’s help, she had to offer them something in return. To find that kind of person could be a staggering task, if they were in fact real. She started browsing all the tomes for proof outside the legends.

The candles she had lit throughout the room shortened in pools of wax. Afternoon had long since succumbed to evening. A maid knocked on the door at one point—Belle had no idea when—with a tray of the supper she missed with her father. Belle pulled free from her studious fervor long enough to take the tray and thank the servant. Half the meal, an assortment of vegetables and cheeses and a bowl of broth, remained untouched by the time she started dozing on top a dense volume on the Enchanted Forest’s history. In her semi-dreaming state, thoughts and faces flickered like wicks, or popped like sparks from a blade against a sharpening wheel. Rumplestiltskin drifted in and out. He was always in his cell waiting for reprieve from his ghastly duty, or for the quest that would send him to his death.

_I’ll find a way_ , she promised him a dozen times over so his face would brighten. He dreamed of being with his family when he was free. She would give him that, even if it meant losing him forever. Better that he should be happy with those he loved. If she could just hold him once without bars between them—

Belle jolted in time to catch herself from sliding off the book. Embarrassment all but drowned her when she noticed the string of drool linking her mouth to the page under her cheek. She wiped her lips and blotted the paper with her dress hem. No severe damage, thank goodness. She pulled her hand back for a better look. What she saw stopped her lungs.

She’d been reading this page before, but fatigue turned the words into a senseless jumble. Now she could read them clearly, and not a moment too soon.

_“The Dark One is like no creature to have lived in this world. It is a being of awful power, a power born from darkness itself, yet it lacks agency without a host. Any man who becomes endowed, or possessed, by the Dark One changes into a corrupted, wicked soul bent on nothing but increasing its strength. In some hosts with more resilient wills, its evil hold may not subsume the possessed entirely. However, every Dark One is bound to the ill will of the tool that makes its transfer from one host to the next possible: the Dagger. By this alone can the world be protected by an otherwise unstoppable danger. The Dark One must obey the person who holds the Dagger and makes demands with its thrall . . .”_

Belle read on, and on, and on until most of her candles were too low for proper lighting. Her eyes were sore and dry, but her hopes were floating in delicate bubbles. She shut the book with resolve. She tucked it under her arm. Her joints creaked as she stood. She stretched a few kinked muscles, then blew out the candles and headed for the door.

When a knock came from the other side, her feet left the floor. Belle trembled from shock. The door opened without her permission.

The Duke of the Frontlands tilted his head into view. “Milady, there you are!” He tried to sound surprised. Tired as she was, the half-hearted attempt blared false in her ears. “I thought you had retired for the evening. It’s quite late.”

“I was just about to,” Belle said. She looked to shuffle by him with haste.

“Ah.” He pointed at the book. “A little late-night reading? I was thinking the same.”

“Were you?”

Rather than answer, the duke came into the room, looking a little sheepish as the door swung halfway closed behind him. Belle frowned.

“Would it be presumptuous to ask if that book is at all related to your concerns during the council?”

Instinct tightened her hold on her acquisition. “What makes you think it’s related?”

“Well, you were quite worried about our strategies against the Titans—what few we have. I am, too. You can talk to captains and generals about warfare until the next blue moon, but most of them have no imagination. They can’t think outside their military experience. I hoped a perusal of your famous library could offer insight.”

Guests in the castle were certainly allowed to use the library at their leisure. Belle would have enjoyed company, too, except in this instance. The duke did not look like a cruel man. There was just something slippery in his careful word choice that upended her nerves. The pause in speech made her more aware of his searching stare. It felt like a dozen invisible feelers of a centipede were tickling her to a very unpleasant effect.

“It’s worth a look,” she answered with a shrug. “Please, be my guest.”

“Thank you, milady.” The duke bowed and stepped by her. She passed him at the same time. Was it her overtired brain, or had he snuck a peek at her book to see its title?

It didn’t matter. She had to sleep, and unless the duke had the gall to invade her bedroom to take her prize, she had nothing to worry about. Belle bid him goodnight and departed at a brisk pace.

Over the next few days, Belle and Maurice discussed what she had found and weighed the goods and ills of sharing this information with anyone else. Her discovery had astonished her father mostly because she had stumbled onto something no one else had. Even so, he remained reticent about what this could mean for the war. How would they find the Dark One? What would he demand as a price? Could he be trusted?

Belle cited excerpts from her book and induced the Dark One’s whereabouts with cross-references to geographic information and history factoids. The Dark One had the power to know when someone needed his services if the person knew his name. Learning the name required more work, but again, she found evidence that certain people across the realm, particularly near the Dark Mountain and the Dark Forest, and those familiar with magic, could offer clues.

“It will take time, but help from the other nobles should make things easier.”

“But . . .” Maurice flexed his large hands, his nerves strung taut. “This is a delicate matter. To call upon someone so powerful might do more harm than good.”

“What about Rumplestiltskin?” After all Maurice had explained about the poor man’s necessary role in the war, how could he justify using him and not provide aid with another powerful ally? “Everyone seems fine with putting him to use, so long as we can keep him locked up. He hardly ever sees his family. He’s not some monster, though plenty of people like to think he is. Father, we have to help him! We can’t let him—”

Belle choked and stopped herself. She looked down at the book. The fear that Maurice would read too deeply into her outburst betrayed her by dying her cheeks scarlet.

Maurice sighed. His big paw cupped her smaller hand. “My poor girl. I know you mean well, but you let yourself care too much for those we cannot help.”

“We _can_ help him.” Steeling herself, Belle pointed to the open book. “We must, if we have any hope of surviving against the Titans. And—” She faltered, unsure if the timing was right. What time would be, though, with the Titans drawing closer every day? “We can also help him by letting him see his family. Please, Papa. It means the world to him.”

She gripped his hand as she spoke. Maurice squeezed back. His broad shoulders rolled up. Lately Belle had noticed a rock-like weightiness to her father’s physique that went beyond his girth and height. It was the heaviness of responsibility. Seeing it made it hard to ask anything of him. Rumple’s present state did tip the scales, but it didn’t banish all guilt for putting any more strain on her father.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll send for the mother and child.”

Belle broke into her first big smile in several days. Her cheeks ached from the neglected muscles. “Thank you!” she said, enfolding herself around her father.

* * *

He had no idea how many days went by (enough to lose count). It could have been a week since Belle had last seen him, or longer. A year ago, he last saw Milah and Bae, or longer. With darkness and silence holding him prisoner as much as the bars and walls, everything felt far away and far in the past. It was better not to think on time at all.

Rumple had started collecting pieces of straw from the floor. He split the ends to soften the fibers and tied them together. By now, he had a length of straw that reached across the cell three times over. Before going to sleep, he rolled it up so that it looked like a spool of thread he’d just spun. The more brittle straw would break, which didn’t matter. On waking, he’d start a new spool. His fingers cramped from the work. The discomfort reminded him of home, learning to spin and weave and sew from his aunts and teaching Milah the same. It helped him dream on how he’d teach Baelfire on the loom, the wheel, and be there to watch his boy’s fingers quicken, bandage them when Bae pricked or cut them. If he could have nothing, not even visits, he would sustain himself on dreams, tired fingers and bits of straw.

The door to the dungeon clanged. Rumple’s stomach gurgled. It must have been mealtime. Although he sat up, and he was hungry, he held off rising until the guards arrived. It brought genuine surprise to see the guards appear with a sword to each of them, and not one a food tray. The taller guard unlocked the door, claiming they had come on Sir Maurice’s orders.

Sir Maurice! Rumple all but bounded through the door. Belle had kept her word! He could’ve hugged her if she’d come herself. But just as prompt as he was to raise his hopes, he pushed them down. This summons might be for his next task. The guards frowned at him. Their glower warned against betraying any joy.

“What about my food?” he asked causally.

“Cop an attitude, and you can be sure you won’t get any.” The shorter guard’s tone leaned to carping more than threatening.

Rumple deferred to nonverbal compliance, giving a nod and a wry frown. His momentary companions led him up many dirty stone stairs while his thoughts drifted to the freshest mental image of his family he could recall. Milah looked fine—beautiful, of course, but a little drawn. He hated the idea of her providing for Baelfire all by herself. Her friends should have been helping her. Bae was bigger each time Rumple saw him. And with more hair curling out of his scalp. He was reserved. Sometimes Rumple looked at Bae and feared the boy didn’t know who he really was, so he didn’t say anything in Rumple’s presence. Maybe he felt neglected by the father who should have been home to raise him.

Optimism turned frantic, yet Rumple cooperated for all of the ascent. As on previous occasions, they led him through various passages that circumvented more common routes to the upper floors, coming out instead to the castle’s courtyard. Rumple expected a company of armed soldiers prepared for marching orders whom he would accompany to the front. This time, what soldiers he saw were all injured and filing out to the drawbridge. A winter chill bit at the extremities. Rumple shivered but resisted complaint. The sight of these departing invalids sunk his soul considerably. In the same moment that his heart panged for their scars, their lost limbs, their drained faces, he also envied their freedom to return to vigilant loved ones. Hard to say whether pity or envy was stronger.

The guards prodded him on. Rumple obeyed. He might be seeing his family. There’d be no nonsense on his part. The walk brought them up another staircase, a small spiraled flight, and from there it was a straight shot to a room tucked in a corner of an L-shaped corridor. Behind an iron-bolted wooden door, it was a small room stockpiled with chests, stacked furniture and weapons in need of whetting or repair. Also in this small room, as big as Rumplestiltskin’s hut, were Milah and Baelfire dressed in warm but frayed cloaks, side by side. Belle stood with them, too. She faced Milah in mid-conversation. When Rumple entered and saw what he’d prayed for, all dialogue stopped. Belle grew bright with delight. She ushered him to come in, and she thanked the guards.

“Don’t worry,” she said on skipping feet. “My father did procure permission for this visit. I told him I’d make sure everything went smoothly. Come!”

Among many things, Rumple longed for a day to come when he would have the eloquence to thank Belle properly. Even if he could at this moment, she gave him no time. She scurried in her clicking lady’s shoes and pushed him from behind to the center of the room. Her hands were barely on his back for ten seconds before they were suddenly gone and Belle declared, “Let me get you a cloak. I still can’t believe we didn’t give you one. I’ll have a word with someone about that!”

As she threw open a chest and rummaged like an incensed nursemaid, Rumple threw his focus back on his family. He’d been ready for a hug or a kiss. Anything. Milah kept her position a few feet away, eyes wide with a mysterious kind of worry, one he couldn’t explain. He must have looked a sight, as Lady Belle had noted, but there was something else. She looked uncomfortable, like she didn’t want to be in this room for longer than needed. Her gaze moved up and down Rumple’s figure. She may not have quite recognized him. He must’ve looked different. Some scruff covered his chin that was close to becoming a short beard. It would be gone as soon as he was back home, or as soon as anyone would let him access a knife and a bowl of water.

“Papa?” The boy holding Milah’s hand and pressing on her hip gawked with inquiring eyes. He took one little step forward.

Rumple felt his pulse thump. He smiled. “Hey, Bae!” His voice struck a high, gentle pitch. He dropped to one knee. “How are you? Have you missed me?”

“That’s a rather unfair question,” Milah muttered.

It was like a pinch. Unkind it might’ve been, but Rumple couldn’t deny the truth. He glanced at her, then back to Bae. “I’m sorry, Bae. I know I’ve been away for a while. But believe me, I’ve missed you so much. I want very much to come home.”

The boy said nothing. His gaze held steady on his father. Rumple, anchoring himself with gratitude for the small gesture, smiled as best he could. In seconds, his sight grew spotty with tears.

“Here,” said Belle.

Rumple flicked his head her way. She had a cloak clutched rather tightly in her hands. She probably heard it all (how could she not?) and was waiting for her moment to intrude. Now she came over. Rather than make him stand, she crouched and draped the cloak on his shoulders. Maybe it wasn’t appropriate to have an outsider present during a private family moment, nor should it feel comfortable, but some solace poured from Belle’s fingers as she smoothed the soft fabric and locked the clasp around his neck for him. Belle couldn’t be a nuisance, even now. She’d been the closest thing to a constant these last five years. He couldn’t bring himself to fault her for showing generous attention.

She stood and said to Milah, “I’ll be outside, and I’ll make sure no one interrupts. Rumplestiltskin is allowed an hour. If I can, I’ll buy you more time.” She curtsied, then grinned and curtsied again for Bae. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Bae looked down for a second and shuffled on his feet. “Nice to meet you, too,” he mumbled. He dared to peek from under his lashes. Rumple almost giggled when Bae bowed. He noticed the plump cheeks glowing pink.

Milah sighed. Offering a conservative smile of her own, she likewise curtsied.

Belle appeared satisfied. She moved to go. Rumple couldn’t let her leave without a gesture of his own.

“Lady Belle,” he said. He hurried to stand.

The way she instantly looked behind her ignited something in his heart he chose to ignore. Gods, she wanted so much to make people happy. Him, of all people. He drove off the distracting thought and, holding the edges of the cloak, also bowed. “Thank you,” he said.

Belle’s eyelids shuddered. Oh, had he upset her? She did look moved. When she smiled again, there was no hiding the sadness that reminded him how she’d kissed his hand. His mind still refused to venture toward why. He let Belle depart without another word. Relief and loss blanketed him.

Things should’ve become simpler from there. It’d been, what, at least six months since their last meeting? In the past, Milah would recount what was going on in her and Bae’s life. Whatever struggles they had, she mentioned them but rapidly changed the subject. What could he do about them, anyway? He was glad to feel involved, if from a distance. Today, Milah didn’t begin speaking when Rumple asked how they were faring. She looked stuck for words. He let her have a minute while he asked Bae if he wanted to sit with his papa. Bae inspected the room in a sweeping glimpse. There were no chairs easy to reach. The furniture pieces clung together in a jumble on one side of the room. Rumple suggested the chest of clothes Belle had looked through as their seat. Bae agreed. When they sat down, the boy allowed no space between them. Hard to believe that at five years old, Baelfire was already halfway up Rumple’s torso, six inches shy of his shoulder. More importantly, Bae paid rapt attention throughout Rumple’s account of his unpleasant “room.” He’d fended off rats, beetles, and even a lizard that tried to crawl into his bed! But he’d been making little hay bales to stave off boredom. Like magic, he produced a spool from his baggy trousers. Bae frowned curiously at the straw wrapped around a piece of chicken bone Rumple had saved from one of his meals. He accepted the strange gift and slowly unrolled it, studying where Rumple had tied the straw pieces together.

In the meantime, Milah paced. She stopped to watch Baelfire inspect his gift, then touched Rumple’s shoulder. She nodded to the opposite side of the room.

He wasn’t sure how they could talk about anything without Bae hearing them. Nevertheless, Rumple complied. He patted Bae’s mop of hair, then joined Milah beside the hazardous mountain of wooden chairs, broken bed frames and cracked tables.

Milah made sure her back faced their son. “Rumple, if I ask you something, will you be completely honest with me?”

The question startled him. “Of course.”

Milah’s grave look sat on her face, unmoving. “I mean it. You must tell me.” Her arms folded. She inhaled before rushing to what she had to say. “I’ve been hearing stories about . . . what you are.”

An icicle cut into his stomach. His abdomen clenched to fight the sensation. “What stories?”

“The village elders—the _very_ old ones—know a few things about people who can become Titans. For instance, they can change when they make themselves bleed. You said something about that before.”

Rumple hesitated. “Well, it’s true, so I guess I did. So?”

“So . . . how did it happen the first time? How did you hurt yourself?”

Milah was whispering. Her frantic tone climbed slowly up her throat. Her eyes opened in that stricken way when a horrible and astonishing thing happened. Something not yet spoken was frightening her, and if he had to guess, she was waiting for him to say it wasn’t true.

“I . . .” He should’ve had a story by now. No one had asked before, though. There’d been no reason.

“The _truth_.” Milah ground down hard on the word.

In the corner of his eye, Rumple saw Bae raising his head to them. He lowered his voice. “Does it matter? Does it matter at this—?”

“ _Yes_.”

Shaky, placating hands came to Rumple’s defense. “Milah, sweetheart . . . everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you and Bae.”

Her eyes clamped shut like she’d been splashed in the face, or struck in a way that caused pain. “You injured yourself. You were trying to get out of fighting, weren’t you?”

Enough time had passed that he was indignant at the accusation before he remembered it was true. “For the gods’ sake! What does it matter?”

Milah was a winter storm inside a whisper. Had she not restrained herself, she would’ve been shouting, and Bae couldn’t have pretended his parents weren’t arguing. “It matters because you said you wanted to prove you weren’t your father! Then you turned around and threw everything to the wind to save your own skin!”

“I did it for _us!_ ” Rumple failed to hold on to self-control. His angry, hurt, panicked pitch cut through the air like a thunder bolt. Shame and regret came in a downpour. Both he and Milah saw Bae stiffen, unapologetic in his blatant scrutiny of them.

Rumple forced his volume down to indoor levels. He moved closer to Milah. “Look, there was a seer who told me I’d die and leave Baelfire fatherless.”

“So a _seer_ told you to injure yourself?” Her eyes widened with building anger.

“I did it so I could go home and be with you. Both of you! To be a father to Bae as my father should have been.”

“But you _didn’t_ come home. You tried to take the coward’s way out—now look.” Milah nodded at Bae. “He barely knows you. And I’ve had to put up with neighbors, people I used to call friends, whispering that I’m married to a monster. And now, a coward. Thank you very much for that.”

Rumple would’ve loved to let those people get a look at what he was capable of, and see if they’d be so careless with their tongues. “They can’t call me a coward now. Not after all I’ve done for them.”

“Because they’ve kept you locked up like the animal y—” Milah stopped herself. She looked shocked by what she nearly said.

“ _What?_ ” Rumple snapped.

“Nothing,” she grumbled.

“No, please, continue! Tell me exactly what you think I am!”

“Rumple—”

“Maybe you prefer _that_ over having a coward for a husband. Is that right?”

 “ _Stop_.” She regarded Bae. He was clutching the partly unrolled straw like a security blanket.

Again, Rumple reined in his temper. Chagrin at his behavior in front of the boy was potent enough to cool his anger. “I don’t know when we can see each other again,” he whispered to Milah. “Let’s not waste what little time we have.”

After a pained pause, Milah said, “I deserved to know.” She wasn’t looking at him. Her stare was caught somewhere between Bae and the floor.

“Look, Milah, I—have you heard about the Titans?”

She finally faced him. “No.”

He quickly explained what Belle had told him, his voice low. Milah bit her lip and narrowed her gaze. “What will you do?”

Well, he couldn’t just injure himself, could he? He wasn’t sure if he could regrow a limb if he lost one, but what wounds he sustained in his Titan form healed quickly. Even the ankle he crushed was good as new the next time he emerged from his first blackout.

“Lady Belle said she’s going to help.”

The scowl Milah gave hinted at something more pointed than concern for his safety. “How?”

“I don’t know. She’s smart, and she’s true to her word. We can trust her. She made our meeting possible.” Rumple touched Milah’s shoulder. She flinched but didn’t move away. He let his hand fall after a few seconds.

“So, you could die, after all,” she said.

Rumple went slack-jawed. “You sound relieved!”

“No, I’m not!” Rather than continue with impassioned assurances, she pulled her cloak closer around her. She struggled to meet his eye. “If you die, it will be with honor. That counts for something, Rumple, believe me.”

“So you can be an honored widow.” The turn in conversation left Rumple too despondent to revive any flames of rage. His remark did have a bitter bite.

Milah ignored it. “And Bae an honored son.”

“And that matters more than my being _with_ you?”

“Why should we hope for different if no one, not even _Lady Belle_ , can change it?”

No logical reason came to him until Rumple saw his son hop off the chest and walk up to his parents. He went to his knees to meet his son.

“Papa,” Bae said, “we could use this for a kite, couldn’t we? If we could make a kite, this could be the string. It’s already rolled up.”

Rumple chuckled. “Yeah. I guess we could. I’ll tell you what, Bae: when I come home, I’ll make you the best kite in the whole village. I don’t know if that string will be strong enough to hold it, but we could always make our own thread. I’ll even teach you on the wheel. How’s that sound?”

“When are you coming home?”

“They haven’t told me yet, but it won’t be long, I’m sure.”

Bae glimpsed around the room. “Can we take some stuff from here? It’s not being used.”

“I could ask Lady Belle. But we can get what we need for the kite back home.”

Rumple opened his arms. Bae, neither frowning nor smiling, threw himself into his papa’s hug. Rumple felt himself embraced by a warmth that could only belong to that wonderful notion of _home_. He knew the feeling because as soon as he let Baelfire go, he would miss it like nothing else.

Bae trembled, like he might start to cry.

“It’s okay, Bae,” Rumple said into his hair. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

A loud knock struck the door. Everyone jerked from surprise. Rumple held Bae tighter. Milah exhaled loudly.

“I think we have to go.”

Bae’s little fingers clawed into his father’s shirt.

Rumple kissed his head. His arms stayed locked around him.

“Rumple,” Milah pleaded. She bent down and touched the back of his shoulder.

Her concern and tenderness persuaded him. He kissed Bae’s scalp again, but his arms released the boy. Milah’s hand loop around Bae’s shoulders. Father and son pulled apart at the same time. Milah picked up the lad.

“Bye,” Baelfire said in a squeak.

Another crack opened in Rumple’s heart. He smiled and dammed his tears. “Bye, son.”

Milah was dry-eyed, but her expression carried genuine sorrow. He made himself forgive her composure. She had to be strong for Bae. They both did.

More knocking. This time, the person on the other side did not wait for invitation. A guard, different from the two who brought Rumplestiltskin here, brusquely entered.

“Rumplestiltskin, you are to report to duty immediately.”

The poor man stumbled to his feet. “Already? But—”

Belle rushed in on the guard’s heels. “Wait! His family is visiting. Can’t it wait?”

“The enemy has been sighted not ten miles from here,” the guard explained. “Time is of the essence.”

“We’ll go,” Milah said. She hurried past the guard and Belle, sending the lady only a vague glance. Bae watched his father as he was carried off, holding out until Milah rounded the corner beyond the doorway and disappeared.

His son’s face filled his mind. The guard’s rough hand on his upper arm couldn’t shake it, and even Belle only slightly parted the fog of heartbreak. She had no words, just a searching look welling with sympathy. He wanted to tell her what he’d told Baelfire, but now it would sound like the empty repetitions of a parrot or a madman. _Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right . . ._

She did catch his hand as he walked by. Dry, coarse, tired skin slid against smooth, youthful skin. A fleeting heat sang between them. Then it was gone, and Rumple could keep captive only the memory, a butterfly made of smoke in a cage with others of its kind, fading with time. He moved forward. The guard herded him on.

A blink of awareness caught him before he made it too far out the door. “Thank you, milady,” he said over his shoulder.

The guard prodded his back. Belle made no reply. He kept going.

* * *

They were calling it a reconnaissance mission, but Belle knew better. They did not need Rumplestiltskin for reconnaissance, even if there was some sense in sending him along for protection. The nobles all agreed that they needed to learn more about the Titans before planning attacks. It was not a suicide mission. No one would have to die. The Duke of the Frontlands made the best point: “In a war like this, we’d be idiots to slaughter the golden goose so soon.”

Belle might have been convinced had she been privy to the follow-up meeting strictly for the generals, captains and commanders. Had she heard from their own lips that avoiding all contact with their foe was a top priority, regardless any opportunity to take down a Titan, she would’ve entrusted her faith to their hands. As it was, many of the men serving, including Gaston, didn’t require much provocation to take the offensive. If they decided to challenge the enemy, Rumple might be pushed into fulfilling his special duty.

She divulged these fears to her father. Maurice rebuked her, albeit in a well-meaning tone.

“This is the military, Belle, not a gang of schoolboys. Discipline is core to their training. If their commanding officers tell them to do something, or not do something, they won’t disobey orders.”

“Are you sure all the officers are trustworthy?”

“You worry too much.” His demeanor grew more serious, more _fatherly_ in that high-handed attitude Belle resented, much as she loved him. “It’s Rumplestiltskin you’re thinking of, isn’t it? I was afraid you were getting too attached to him. Really, Belle! He’s a decent man, but he’s a Titan shifter. If he does survive, it doesn’t change what he is, or who you are. He’ll go home to his family. That will be the end of it, as it should be. Think of Gaston and what he might make of your fixation.”

“ _Fixation_? He’s my friend!” Belle struggled to force back a blush. It was harder knowing that her father’s concern wasn’t entirely unfounded. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting a friend to come home safely. Nor is it wrong to worry that he’ll be used like—like a weapon of war.”

Seeing that this conversation wasn’t going to end or move beyond where Belle sat in the library, Maurice sat in the chair opposite hers, grunting as he did. He looked like a beached walrus squeezing between two outcropping rocks. “War is an ugly thing. No one would disagree on that. But would you have us not use him at all? We can’t just leave him alone and let him become a danger to everyone around him.”

Absentmindedly, Belle’s fingers tapped on the pages of her open book—the same one in which she first found information about the Dark One. She dropped her gaze while pondering the issue. Her attention traveled to the book and her fingers on the sentence explaining the Dark One’s tendency to travel the kingdoms in search of victims to draw into deals.

“I understand why we need him. But Rumplestiltskin isn’t the monster you make him out to be.” She scowled at the memory of their last encounter. She’d been standing outside the room, trying very hard not to listen. The door was thick enough to obscure specific words. Nonetheless, raised voices did bleed through the wood, particularly Rumple’s. The sudden tension had startled Belle and left her uncomfortable with what she was doing. Rumple had always spoken fondly of his family. Milah had been a childhood sweetheart, but poverty had made it necessary to wait a while before marrying, and even after they did, they held off having children. They wanted to start a family once Rumple’s weaving trade gained momentum and the shadow of his father’s cowardly reputation finally dispersed. He saw the Ogres War as his chance to turn things around for them.

Belle had placed importance on painting her mental image of Milah in a generous light. She wanted to believe that Rumple was married to a strong, loving, loyal partner who would champion through this difficult time in their lives. Had she thought the woman any less, Belle knew she’d fall prey to her growing affection—no, attachment to Rumple. The price of idealizing his wife was, of course, the pang of envy, for Belle made herself more aware of her own flaws. Surely she couldn’t hold a candle to his wife. And she shouldn’t! Day after day, she drilled it into her mind, all while her heart became infected with longing to make Rumple happy. Arranging an audience with his family should’ve overwritten all moments of weakness where she might have secretly wished Rumple was a free man.

It wasn’t until the soldier approached her with his orders to fetch Rumplestiltskin, and then stormed in like a brute to take him away, that she got a taste of the bad air accruing behind the door under her guard. She was more distressed than she thought she might be to see the chill in Milah’s stance, but there was misery lurking behind the peasant woman’s eyes. It didn’t come from the pain of leaving her husband; she whisked out the door with their son, not once looking back. And Rumple—gods, the man looked like he’d been knocked to the ground, metaphorically speaking.

They must’ve argued. It was all Belle could think as the soldier led Rumple away. Impulse shot into her hand, making it seize his. His fingers were cold. He had little to cover him except the thin clothes that were comparable to undergarments. Her throat tightened and refused to relax even when Rumple left with a ‘thank you’ she couldn’t answer.

The incident had turned her blood volcanic with anger for the next two days. She didn’t see Rumple again, afraid to subject him to her foul mood. He wasn’t at fault. Milah wasn’t, either, although she didn’t dispose herself to Belle’s otherwise forgiving nature. It was _everything_ —the war, the Titans, the nobles, her father, herself.

She should’ve been able to curb her stupid emotions. Yet here she was pining for him, entertaining grim visions of what he was going through right now. It made her want to confess and purge herself of these feelings.

Her father’s large hand on her fingers halted their nervous dance. “My dear girl,” he said, “you have a good heart. Someday, some lucky man will win it. But Rumplestiltskin cannot be that man.”

Belle shook her head. She made herself look at him. “He’s a good man—that’s what I meant. His being dangerous doesn’t give us permission to treat him like a beast. His dignity matters. If I _do_ have any—special feelings for him, they’re unimportant. They have nothing to do with the issue.”

Maurice’s cheeks stretched in a sad smile. Both his hands cupped hers, and his thumbs rubbed her knuckles the way he had when she was little and frightened by thunderstorms. “I don’t know if I should be worried or glad for your nobility. The world needs it, but sometimes even nobility must be sacrificed for the greater good.”

“I can’t believe that, Father. I’m sorry.” Belle tugged her hands from his gentle hold. “There are still other choices to look at. I’ve rooted out more information about the Dark One. Want to hear it?”

Maurice agreed to listen, although he didn’t grow optimistic. While they discussed where they could inquire about the Dark One’s whereabouts, or his name, he mentioned how the Duke of the Frontlands had been prying for updates on Belle’s fervent research earlier this week. The fact unnerved Belle for a while, lasting beyond the talk in the library, dinner, supper and retirement to her bed chambers. She wouldn’t sleep if she kept dwelling on what the Duke might already know, and how persistent he might be, so Belle snatched up a favorite book from her nightstand: _Her Handsome Hero_. Her mother read it to her as a child. It wasn’t as scholarly as what she’d been poring over in the library of late. It was the perfect remedy to calm her brain. Opening it unleashed the nostalgic smell of page leaves and her mother’s perfume. It unearthed memories of more innocent times.

Out of nowhere came an interesting idea: maybe Baelfire would like this. He was only five, and maybe he couldn’t read. What better book to start with? The language wasn’t difficult. By her persuasion, Maurice had arranged for Milah and Bae to stay for the week in the servant quarters in the belief that Rumplestiltskin would return (alive) in that time and enjoy another tête-à-tête. Gods willing one that didn’t involve a confrontation.

Tomorrow, Belle thought. I’ll visit them tomorrow. Since they weren’t servants, Milah might feel in the way. Belle would bring the book for Baelfire’s pleasure, and she and his mother could get to know each other. It wouldn’t hurt to see how things stood from her perspective. That would, with any luck, grant Belle the restraint she needed over her feelings. If she couldn’t help Rumple, she could help his loved ones, and herself.

She got through the first couple chapters before her eyelids doubled in weight. In a sleepy haze, she closed the book and returned it to the nightstand, just avoiding the lit candle. That went out next with a forceful puff. The darkness seduced her into slumber. It couldn’t have been another minute before she dropped into oblivion completely. Her dreamy thoughts swirled around Rumple, gallant shepherd boys and the cute child in his mother’s arms.

Then came a string of distant screams. When the screams grew louder, they thrust Belle out of sleep. Panic stemming from instinct rather than thought jolted Belle upright in her bed. The cold air prickled her skin when the covers dropped off her bare shoulders and arms. She waited for more screams, or nothing, hoping for the latter so she could dismiss the sounds as the residue of a fading dream. The screams renewed, both male and female. They froze her blood worse than any frost. Belle threw off the covers. She ran for the wardrobe. Her nightgown was tossed in exchange for a long-sleeved chemise, the easiest dress to hoist over her head and lace up, and a robe. She slid into slippers and sprinted out the door.

The echoes coming from downstairs amplified the screams. That wasn’t all she heard. The whole castle was rhythmically shaking. Like the screams, the tremors originated from the lower floors. Belle’s heartbeat pounded in her ears but couldn’t drown the din.

A flashing vision overtook her. The drumming of heavy footsteps preluded a crash through the library door. She and her mother ducked under a table, trying not to breathe or move. The grey, sandaled feet of the ogre crossed her sightline. Its rank odor, like rotting eggs, curdled her stomach. Then the table flipped over. Belle was quite sure she screamed. She hadn’t meant to. If she hadn’t, the blind ogre might’ve moved on . . .

The cries she heard now were not her own. She ran toward them. Down the carpeted hallway, down the next staircase. People were popping out of rooms—nobles, servants, a flurry of nightgowns and liveries. Some of the ladies hurried back to their rooms for safety. So did a few men. Everyone else, regardless of age and physical fitness, rushed to find out what was happening or help the people in trouble.

Belle went with them. When the crowd began stampeding down the stairs, guards came in a black wave from below. She wasn’t in the front line that met the protective push from soldiers ordering everyone to fall back and prepare to evacuate if necessary. Sometimes short stature really could come in handy: Belle had only to duck and squirm through her thwarted compatriots to continue into the brewing chaos.

More guards, more people rushing in all directions in a panic. The tremors sent Belle an inch off the ground each time. She relied on the wall to keep her on her feet. It felt hotter down here for some reason, possibly with so many nobles, servants and soldiers crowding through the congested corridors escaping or running toward the intensifying vibrations. Belle wondered where her father was in all this. She tried to spy his tall figure, but the fracas around her was very distracting.

People were tripping over each other. An older woman, possibly pushed, lost her footing and disappeared into the undertow swirling toward the second floor or the main doors. Belle battled her way to her, all while sweating from the imminent chance of being knocked over herself. The old lady grabbed Belle’s hands and leaned a good deal on her to get back up. If she thanked Belle for the aid, the young lady didn’t catch it. No thanks were needed. The woman hustled along, and Belle set her sights on what she could do to improve the situation. She rode the rivers of people and pulled herself free of the current by clasping onto an officer who was ordering everyone to head upstairs or leave directly by the southern corridor. She had to shout to make her question heard: what on earth was going on?

“A Titan has entered the castle!” the officer shouted back. “He must have climbed over the wall. From the looks of it, he’s targeting the servant’ quarters first.”

The servants’ quarters. Oh, gods! Milah and Baelfire—she’d never forgive herself if Rumplestiltskin came home to find they had been killed while he was away trying to keep the Titans from coming here! How had one made it this far? Belle thanked the soldier and headed toward the next flight of stairs heading down.

“I can’t let you go!” He had her arm. “Go upstairs! You’ll be safer there!”

“This is my father’s castle!” Belle declared with what authority as she could muster. “I must make sure everyone has cleared out, and that the injured aren’t left behind!”

“ _We_ will take care of that! There are—”

A terrible noise combining thunder and the impact of a boulder cracking down a mountainside shook the castle. More shrieks rose up like the wails of the damned. Everyone stumbled and wobbled on their feet, so much that the guard released Belle’s wrist just to catch himself. Belle, on shaken feet, steered her staggering steps toward the attack. The charging soldiers were so frazzled and frantic to face the enemy that none tried to stop Belle. Barely anyone noticed her scurrying beside them like a determined puppy.

Only another fifty feet later, they almost fell over the rubble. Walls were cracking around them. Chunks of stone became more numerous until they reached the wing designated to the castle’s staff. Belle gasped. A section of the wall had been torn down, leaving huge broken blocks scattered across the adjoined courtyard. That wasn’t all they found. Bodies were lying everywhere. Many were breathing, cut-up and bruised. A few had met an untimely end under dislodged stones or simply being trampled. The tangy odor of fresh blood burned Belle’s throat, but for better or worse she had no time to dwell on it. They met another terrifying sight—the cause of this destruction.

Of all the descriptions of Titans Belle had uncovered in her research, the creature crouching in the courtyard stumped her expectations. He did huff steam through his flared nostrils and mouth, and he was naked. The crotch area was completely smooth and featureless. But his skin wasn’t human; it twinkled in the radiance of fallen torches. It was made of rough scales. The ears were pointed, jutting out of crinkled brown-and-silver hair. The mouth, partly open as the Titan panted from his exertions, was a perpetual ghastly smile because there were no lips to cover his crooked, stained black-and-yellow teeth. The eyes nearly bulged out of the sockets; the irises belonged to a lizard. Belle checked for a tail to come whipping from behind. No, the Titan was otherwise human in shape. That included the clawed hands holding two people captive.

It was several seconds of disbelief, fear and awe before Belle recognized the dark-haired woman yelling and thrashing in the monster’s fist. Belle squeaked and looked at the child in his other fist. No! Oh, gods, no!

Milah threw her all into kicking, beating her hands and trying to bite the fingers ensnaring her. Baelfire wriggled, too, and bawled for his mother. The Titan switched his stare back and forth between them, panting but otherwise passive.

Why hadn’t he eaten them? Was he deciding which to eat first, or—

_No_. It dawned. The angular facial features, the long hair, the round-eyed stare. This wasn’t a random Titan. Belle gawked, too stunned to say his name, more afraid to speak it and see him respond. She didn’t want it to be _him_. But in the same breath she did, if it meant that Bae and Milah were not in immediate danger.

The onrush came without warning. As if they had become one mind with one purpose (or simply following primal group mentality), the soldiers charged the courtyard. Swords slashed and lances flew. A howl with the force of a large waterfall knocked almost everyone off their feet. Belle tumbled back and barely caught herself on a jagged piece of the decimated wall. The stone scraped some skin loose from her palm.

As she caught her breath, the screams of men invaded her ears. One, two, or three at a time, they went flying from the scaly Titan’s kicks. Their armored bodies clanged against the walls. One soldier who wasn’t flung was stomped underfoot. Blades and sharpened tips all bounced off the tough skin.

“The neck!” one man somewhere yelled. “Get to his neck!”

Belle saw there was no hope for that, although a line of archers appeared on the roof above them. The Titan was already turning away while switching Baelfire into the hand that held Milah. With the other hand free, he jumped like a leopard onto the castle wall and clambered up and over. In another bound he was out of sight, beyond the archers’ reach.

While a few soldiers went to help the wounded, both uniform and civilian, the rest ran back the way they came. Finally, Belle could identify the captain, the man shouting orders to secure the castle’s perimeter. It didn’t seem they would go after Rumplestiltskin. How could they, when they couldn’t take him down in such close quarters? But where would he take his wife and son? What might he do to them, even accidentally?

One clear certainty filled Belle, blotting out caution and some degree of reason. It meant abandoning her intent to assist with the wounded residents, but other people were already siphoning through the hordes of soldiers to lend a hand. Helping Rumple and his family was her mission, and hers alone.

If she tried to find and speak to Maurice to gain permission, it might be too late. Worse, he might forbid her from going. How was she to do anything, be a hero, if her father kept her tucked away in safety? Wisdom dictated that she take a soldier with her, but the idea that anyone might stop her was daunting. She felt a little like a fugitive herself spiriting down the servant’s wing to the stables, even while she saddled her dear Philippe and set him galloping into the forest.

When she spotted where trees and other vegetation had been flattened, she changed into the pursuer. Her heels urged Philippe to run faster. She guided him to the road closest to Rumple’s trail. Before long, the highway swerved away from where they needed to go, so they had to rough it through the brush. Philippe huffed and grunted a few times. Belle replied with bolstering words: “Come on, boy, you can do it, just a little further! Hup!”

Her mount had to leap over fallen trunks and weave to avoid treacherous branches. Belle bowed her head from the branches still above them. Sooner than she expected, booming footfalls came to her ears and rattled her bones. She couldn’t say whether the prospect of actually catching up to Rumplestiltskin, losing him in the forest, or going numb from the freezing night air worried her most. Again, she tapped her heels on Philippe’s flanks. The horse, nickering with high spirits, picked up the pace.

Belle could barely breathe while watching the Titan’s shape grow sharper and bigger between the trees. He wasn’t as tall as them, but his head and shoulders were concealed by the leaves that his flight did not immediately strip off. Then the truly unexpected happened.

He slowed down.

She doubted her sight at first, thinking it was the effect of Philippe catching up to him, only to be proven both right and wrong when Rumple grabbed a thick conifer and held on while passing it. It showed he was walking, not running. And he looked tired. Or maybe distracted by his cargo. He startled Belle again by dropping to his knees and sending an impact ripple through the earth. Philippe whinnied in fright and skidded to stop. Belle cried out in her struggle to keep control of her steed. Philippe’s panic was fleeting, and she calmed him enough to propel him forward at a milder gallop. They slowed to a trot upon reaching the heaving back of the scaly-skinned giant. Belle dismounted before Philippe completely stopped.

Her hands were shaking. It was from the cold, she lied to herself. She tied Philippe’s reins to the closest tree. Her robe, though heavy, was no cloak. It must have looked a bit silly riding out in a night robe. At least she had a dress on underneath. She burrowed her hands into her armpits and walked around the huge feet, the hunched shoulders. It proved difficult not noticing that while he had no genitalia, he most certainly still had a bottom. A very naked, supple bottom.

“Focus,” Belle muttered.

She went past his planted knees. She was there in time to see him lower his hands to the ground. A limp Milah splayed over frosted dead leaves. Baelfire balled up like a kitten next to her. His head peered up at Rumple’s huge, departing hands. Still tucked closely to his motionless mother’s side, shivering as badly as Belle, he made no sound. Rumple mirrored him by sitting in silence and simply looking at his abducted family.

Belle went a degree colder on seeing Milah looking so lifeless. When she tried to move toward the pair, those bulging eyes swiveled to her. She stopped short.

“Rumplestiltskin.” She held up her hands. “Rumple, it’s me. Belle. I won’t hurt them, I promise you.”

The Titan tilted his head. Wariness did not leave his features, but a little softness relaxed them. The lipless mouth was disturbing, but it elicited heartfelt sympathy, too. He couldn’t help how he looked. With that in mind, Belle held eye contact and took slow steps toward Milah.

Rumple grunted. His wide eyes hinted at warning as much as anxiety and confusion. Belle was careful how she knelt next to Milah. Rumplestiltskin did not move. His gaze shifted to Milah, then to Belle. All distrust melted, or so she hoped. It was similar to reading an animal’s face—who could say what emotion or intelligence lay behind that stare? More could be read in the rest of his stance, like how his shoulders were drawn close to his neck, how his hands repetitively flexed, how his eyes kept jumping from Belle to Milah to little Bae. He was afraid, yet he did not brush Belle away. He must have known he could trust her, if tentatively.

It was the best she could hope for. Belle risked looking away to tend to Milah. She touched the woman’s cheeks and forehead. They had the warmth of life, if the chill of exposure to the elements. Her chest moved slightly with breath. Careful hands lifted Milah’s head and felt for any bumps or bruises. None, thank goodness. She must have fainted from being shaken around, or from the sheer shock of everything.

“Milah?” Belle said while patting her cheeks, hoping to revive her. No response.

Baelfire mimicked her action in his own way. He touched his mother’s face with little rosy fingertips. “Mama?”

“She’s okay,” Belle said. Her hand covered his like a bird putting a wing over her hatchling. “She’s just asleep for the moment. I’m sure she’ll wake up soon.” She touched Bae’s head before she thought better of it. The boy didn’t recoil. If anything, he looked hungry for cheering words and gentle touches. Being carried off like a child’s toy must have not rested well with him.

Rumple broke the moment. He groaned, and Belle heard his body drag itself away. She watched with bated breath while her hand dropped to Bae’s shoulder.

“Rumple?”

His teeth parted. Another groan came out in a steam cloud. His eyes clench shut. He fell back on his haunches but caught himself with one hand. He rolled onto all fours with his rear end facing Belle. His head dangled like he was in pain. Before the inappropriate view could fully imprint on her brain, an explosion of heat and a noxious smell slammed into her. Violent wind whipped up her hair and clothes. She could think of nothing but to drop herself over Bae and Milah. It wasn’t the heat of fire, despite how it stung the skin and make her forget the winter temperature from a moment ago. A loud hiss, the sound of a geyser, overwhelmed all other noise. Belle shut her eyes and held Bae’s head down. The swelter was so thick she started sweating. The smell was horrible—it brought back early memories of visiting a farm in summer and discovering one of the older steers lying dead in the field. She coughed soundly. Some of the stink had to clear before she could turn to Rumple. What in the gods’ names had happened?

The steam acted as a fog for a little longer, so she could not see him clearly. But the outline of his massive shape was no longer there. The thinning vapor revealed the crumbling, ashen remains of a skeleton, and the burnt and simmering residue of muscle and fat. Belle shielded her mouth and looked away to stop from gagging.

Bae looked too dazed and scared to really know what he was seeing. The small mercy permitted Belle to leave him with Milah. She girded her stomach against the sight of steaming bone and flesh and lurched toward the spot. A harsh gust chased away the fog. Now she could see Rumplestiltskin—a man-sized lump on the ground, giving off vapor like the rest of what once was his Titan form.

“Rumple!” The stench made her cough again, but she ran to him. He didn’t move or make a noise until she was at his side rolling him over. There came a grumble, blessedly normal and soft and _human_. He was clothed (a mixed blessing) in his soldier’s uniform. At least he’d stay warm, which was more than she could guarantee for anyone else. Bae and Milah had only their nightwear.

She pulled him up, grateful for the heat still exuding from his body. Once he was sitting, she looked him over. Something had happened to the sides of his face. They looked—what could she compare them to? They looked like burns, or heat impressions from things touching his face. They even seared off some of his stubble, but the silvery hair was intact on his chin and lower jaw and around his mouth. Given what surrounded them, it made sense to guess that Rumple’s true body had been _inside_ his Titan body, and that when he changed back his real body had been released from its fleshy cocoon. There would be a time and opportunity to dwell on this interesting notion. For now, Belle covered the burns with her hands. His face was inches from hers while his eyes tried to open.

They finally did. Belle sighed at the lovely brown irises. They had a lulling effect, until they actually looked at her. Their sweetness and warmth were liquid chocolate; they could induce a similar thrill. She should have pulled away. His family lay ten feet from them. But it was so good to see him, and alive! And a little dopey with his hooded stare gradually finding purchase on Belle’s face. His slack mouth twitched into a disbelieving grin.

“Belle?” he whispered.

She laughed and sobbed. Her smile hurt. The cold was bleeding into her cheeks, but Rumple was still hot, and being this close, her attention narrowing on his lips, her face started to redden. Her own lips tingled from his huffing breaths. Half-aware, she leaned closer.

“Papa!” Bae called.

He broke the trance holding both of them. Rumple turned quickly. The shy smile he’d given Belle widened to uninhibited delight. “ _Bae_.” Then it collapsed from surprised alarm. “Milah!”

When he stumbled trying to stand, Belle helped him find balance and followed him back to their companions. The recent change took some adjustment, she guessed. Rumple made no protest against her guiding him by the elbow to kneel beside Milah.

Bae crawled into his father’s arms. “Mama will be okay?”

Rumple swallowed and sought Belle for an answer.

She squeezed his wrist. “I think she just fainted. She doesn’t look injured.”

Even so, Belle resumed her attempts to rouse the woman. She patted Milah’s face and repeated her name. Rumple did, too, stroking her scalp with one hand and massaging Baelfire’s shoulder with the other. Milah finally groaned. She started rocking her head side to side. The relieved sigh gushing from Rumple made Belle’s heart clench in a way she wished it didn’t. Battling against the selfish gut response, she put double effort into easing Milah back to consciousness.

“Milah, are you all right? Don’t worry, you’re safe. Bae’s here. He’s okay.”

“Wha—” Despite disorientation, Milah forced herself up. Belle begged her to take it slow. The older woman just shook her head with a scratchy, “I’m fine,” before looking around.

“Where are we? How did—where did that thing—?”

“I-it’s okay,” Rumple whispered while taking her closest hand. Reluctant understanding was starting to spread over his face, making it tighten and furrow. “I . . . I didn’t mean to . . .”

Comprehension was coming to Milah, too, all the more strongly when she examined Rumple’s face. His features brought clarity to what she remembered from before, by Belle’s deduction. All at once she was gaping, beside herself.

“What the _hell_ did you do?”

Rumple inhaled sharply. The memories were coming back to him. “Th-the last I remember was being with the unit. We found tracks to a settlement a ways northwest. There . . . there weren’t more than twenty of them, but they were _big_. We turned around. We were heading back and came across a straggler, or maybe a sentry, I don’t know. They . . . they told me to fight him off. But another came! That’s . . . that’s all I’m sure of. After that . . . I kept thinking about the Titans coming after us. I saw them killing me and killing you and Bae and everything we have . . . I couldn’t think straight. I needed to be with you. But I couldn’t control . . . Belle, how bad was it?”

He regarded her with ripe desperation. Belle’s head hurt recalling the destruction, the blood, the screams.

“Well . . . there were some casualties.”

“Y-you . . . you mean I _killed_ people?”

Milah’s teeth clamped together. She was breathing hard, almost seething, but more shocked than angry. Her gaze searched Belle, then Bae. By the time it returned to Rumple, it had hardened with disgust.

“Not out of malice,” Belle said to both Rumple and Milah. “The deaths were accidents. I didn’t see everything, but you were coming for your family, right? You just wanted them to be safe!” That’s what drove him to come back to the castle in his Titan form. When a shifter changed into a Titan (according to her and Maurice’s research), the catalyst usually came down to a combination of injury and a clear-set goal. He wanted to protect his family, but he didn’t think he could fight off the Titans, so instead he tried to carry them off to safety.

“I . . . I can’t believe this.” Milah had difficulty breathing, close to crying. But then self-possession seized her, as did anger and a small measure of panic. “You bastard! You bloody coward!”

“Milah!” Rumple and Belle cried at the same time. The former reached for his wife. “Please, I didn’t—”

“No! You stay away from me!” She crawled back, only to stop and stretch her arm to Baelfire. “Give me my son! Before you do you something to him!”

“I wouldn’t!” Anger flared. Rumple barked his words and hugged Bae tighter.

“Calm down, both of you!” Belle shuffled into the widening gap between them. “No one else will get hurt tonight. Milah, there’s no need to be frightened. Rumple—”

“ _Frightened_?” Milah lunged up into a standing position. Her lips rose in a sneering snarl. “Who would be frightened of such a man? You have no right to speak for him. You don’t know him! You don’t know what I had to put up with. All his talk about proving everyone wrong. He wants _so badly_ to show he isn’t a coward like his father. And what does he do? He _runs!_ Do you know he tried to injure himself in the Ogres War? That’s how his first transformation happened. It wasn’t the noble act he’d have you believe. He just wanted to save himself! And he’s done it again—now when he’s a _damn Titan!_ A bloody monster, and he’s _still_ a pathetic coward!”

Belle couldn’t have stopped Milah’s tirade any more than she could have stopped a charging bull. In that moment she felt so small, so meek. She didn’t know how to answer. It felt grossly unfair to Rumple, yet Milah clearly knew things about him—the unpleasant truths he wouldn’t willingly share with other people. Belle couldn’t debunk anything.

She heard a whimper behind her. Belle turned. Rumple was sitting still with anger lingering in his expression. But the tears were pushing it away.

He hadn’t dispute Milah, either.

It wasn’t him to whimpered, though. Baelfire was hiding in his papa’s shoulder. Rumple held him like he knew he was going to lose him soon.

Rekindled purpose grew in Belle’s heart like a wildfire. It didn’t chase off the cold numbing her skin, but it gave her the grit to face Milah.

She moved closer to her. “Rumple is _not_ a monster. He’s your husband, your son’s father. Your _family_. For all the mistakes he’s made, doesn’t that count for something? You love him, don’t you? He needs you now more than ever. You can’t let him believe he’s the things you say he is. He’s better than that! You must see it!”

“You’re a foolish, gullible girl.” Although Milah still snarled, her eyes watered, and those tears didn’t entirely spring from fury. “You have _no right_ to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. Have you ever had to suffer your neighbors, your _friends_ , talking about you behind your back? Have people look at you like _you’re_ the monster, or that _you’re_ the one who ran from war. _I_ wouldn’t have run, and I won’t be treated like I did. It’s not my fault!” She caught her breath and closed the distance between them. She grasped Belle’s shoulders, making the younger woman start. Her grip didn’t hurt, thankfully. It was just firm, demanding Belle’s full attention. Milah’s voice dropped under her breath.

“I believed in him once. I told myself his father’s reputation didn’t matter. I loved him enough to make myself think a man’s reputation didn’t define his character. It’s _his_ fault I can’t believe in him anymore. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from him. He’ll only hurt you.”

Belle gently clasped Milah’s elbows. “I know I haven’t known him as long as you. But you’re wrong about him. If he was really a coward, he wouldn’t have come back for you. He would have run to hide himself. He loves you, and Bae. Isn’t that worth forgiving him?”

“If he really loved us,” Milah said, sounding dreary all of a sudden, “he would have let himself die. He would have made the sacrifice.”

“He didn’t see it that way.”

“It doesn’t matter how he sees it. That’s how everyone else sees it.”

So that was it. It mattered to Milah what everyone thought, maybe more than what she truly thought of it herself. But maybe she was compelled to agree. She might have felt robbed of choice.

“Milah—it’s going to be okay.” Or maybe not. Belle could still picture the torn wall, the people thrown around from Rumple’s efforts to find his family and protect himself. His unit had to be looking for him, too, ready to inflict punishment for desertion. What would they do? Imprison him for good? Execute him? Perhaps banishment—no, they would want to keep him around against the Titans. Unless they deemed him too cowardly to fight, or too volatile to control.

The situation did look very bleak through Milah’s eyes, and everyone else’s. The more she dwelled on it, the harder it was to know if Rumple was right or wrong. Belle decided that it didn’t matter. What would follow deserved consideration. Going back and facing up to what he did _would be_ the honorable thing. But it would guarantee his doom, too. Either he had to keep running (alone, if Milah’s attitude was any indication), or Belle had to secure amnesty on his part.

Judging by how he held Bae, his head now resting on top of the boy’s, Rumple was not prepared to choose the first option.

Milah’s frown showed her grave doubts regarding Belle’s weak assertion. So Belle peeled her hands off her shoulders and sweetly clenched them. “Whatever may come, I won’t give up. I’ll speak with my father. I’ll make him understand the situation.”

“What is there to understand?” Milah cut in with her unfazed cynicism.

“Plenty! It was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission, nothing more. His unit forced him to attack a Titan against their mandate! His primary instinct was to protect his family. Anyone would understand that.”

Milah dropped her shoulders, pulled her hands free and looked away. She chewed her lower lip. While Belle couldn’t understand everything she must’ve been feeling, she withheld judgment. She preferred to hope that Milah would find her way to forgiving Rumple in time. There still had to be love for him somewhere in her heart.

“I want to go home,” Milah said at last, hugging herself. “Not the castle, although I appreciate you letting us stay there. I just . . .”

Belle wouldn’t let awkward silence make this any worse. “I understand.” She sloughed her comfy robe. “Take this. It’s small for you, but it will keep you warm.”

Milah’s face softened, surprised and moved. “I-I couldn’t.”

There was no room for protest. Belle helped her slip it on as best it fit, then brought her to Rumple. “We need to go back,” she said. “Milah can take Bae home on Philippe. Do . . . do you want to go with them? It may be your only chance for a while.”

Rumple had been looking only at Bae. When Belle addressed him, he was slow to glance up. But he did. Belle granted him and his wife a private exchange by pivoting away, pretending to act as lookout for anyone approaching them. It may well have been providence at work. Hardly a moment later, she heard hoofbeats to the south. Nothing could be seen, but the clops were getting louder.

“Someone’s coming,” she said.

Rumple drew up tensely. Bae was still cradled against his chest. Reluctantly, Rumple stood and set the boy on the ground. He ruffled Bae’s hair, smiling. “Don’t worry, son. We’ll get to making that kite.”

“Don’t,” Milah muttered.

Rumple sighed. He kissed Bae’s head.

“It’s okay, Papa,” Baelfire whispered.

Belle fought the impulse to touch Bae’s head, too. She wasn’t family, and she didn’t want to fall under Milah’s critical eye at this time. “It _will_ be okay,” she said, hoping her words were enough.

Urgency caught up with them as the incoming cavalry’s charging horses reverberated like an oncoming thunderstorm. “You all have to go.”

“No,” Rumple said. With a hand to Bae’s back, he nudged him to Milah. “Go. I’ll take Belle back to the castle. Just hurry.”

Milah didn’t hesitate to scoop up Bae. “Really?”

Rumple nodded, not meeting Milah’s eyes.

When he didn’t recant, Belle fetched Philippe. In a minute, she had Milah up on the saddle and helped up Bae right after her. Milah looked a little uncertain. She gripped the horse’s mane for balance while also clutching Baelfire to her front.

Belle offered a smile. “Philippe is a gentle soul. Just show him who’s in charge and he won’t steer you wrong.” She handed her the reins. “The castle is that way, so your village should be a little more southeast.”

“Thank you,” Milah said as she took them. Without anger or bitterness tainting her words, she had a lovely manner about her. The gratitude was true, and it obliged Belle to send her off with a wider smile, which lasted until mother and son were carried off at a canter into the night. It fell when she realized Milah and Rumple had not bid each other farewell.

She turned to find Rumple still watching his family leave, very likely for the last time in a long while. “Why didn’t you go with them?” she asked in a neutral tone.

He wilted, and his gaze dropped to the ground. But enough strength returned to look at Belle even under the weight of his melancholy. “I didn’t want Bae to watch his papa being taken away by soldiers. I _did_ think about going on the run once I was home, but I’d have done it if Bae went with me.”

“Milah wouldn’t let you,” Belle said, understanding.

He nodded. “And it wouldn’t be right to take him from his mother.”

All that Milah had said about him cycled through her mind. What upset Milah the most didn’t seem to be his Titan powers (though they must have given her a fright) or even his cowardice. She hated how Rumple had put saving his own life ahead of preserving his family’s reputation. It was a valid gripe if Belle could believe Rumple was a purely selfish man. What he just said thwarted the idea.

She couldn’t help herself this time. She gathered Rumple up in a hug. Sweat and a faint bloody odor intruded her nose. Belle didn’t care. She preferred being grateful that Rumplestitlskin was still warm and his layered uniform provided insulation from the winter air. It was better when he eventually returned the hug.

“Why are you helping me?” he asked.

Belle gave a short laugh. The question that would be on everyone’s mind, no doubt. “You’re my friend, you silly man.”

His snicker tickled her neck, making her shudder. “You’ve done more than any friend I’ve ever had. Well, I haven’t had many.” All at once he pulled back. Over his shoulder Belle could at last see the silhouettes of mounted men in uniform making their approach. That wasn’t why he moved. His gloved fingers unhooked the black cloak draped over most of his uniform, whipped it off and threw it over Belle’s shoulders.

“You must be freezing. That was sweet what you did for Milah, but let’s not have you catch your death, all right?”

Belle went warm all over from more than the cape enveloping her. But she kept a clear image of Milah in her head. “Thank you.” She cinched the fabric up to her chin and prayed Rumple mistook her blush for a symptom of the cold. “Rumple, don’t take what Milah said to heart. If you think it’s unbelievable that I, or anyone, would want to help you like this, it’s not. You’re a good man. And I meant when I said I’d talk to my father. I’ll do all I can.”

If he could hear the grunting horses and pounding hoofs, Rumple was good at ignoring them. “Belle, I . . . if it puts you in danger, it’s not worth the risk. I _know_ Milah wouldn’t go to such lengths for me. I’m just—”

“Then she’s wrong!” Belle cringed as soon as the words were out. She shook her head. “I mean, she . . . she just doesn’t understand. I’m sure she loves you, even if—”

“She doesn’t.”

He spoke so low she barely heard him. Belle craned her head closer with innocent intentions. Only after she felt his breath against her mouth did they turn not so innocent. _Pull back_ , she thought. _Before you do something stupid_.

Rumple’s voice trembled. “You saw her. You _heard_ her. I’ve tried to tell myself I’m wrong. She’s my wife, the only woman I . . . do you think she does love me? Am I wrong?” It was like she’d accidently severed through layers of unfounded words of consolations, denials and half-truths to his very heart and saw him open to her in vulnerable need. He wanted to be wrong. Maybe he would believe anything she told him right then, or he’d squirrel it away with all the other assurances he’d stored up to keep himself sane in that prison cell.

It would be wrong to speak for Milah, no matter what instinct told her. Even if they were good, even if they were _right_ , it was not her place. Milah needed to find the courage to tell Rumple the truth. All Belle could do was say what she did know to be true. He deserved it, regardless whether he would take comfort from it or throw it to the gutter. And she had to tell it for her own sake.

One of her cold, ruddy-palmed hands found the fading burns on his cheek.

The horses galloped over hard icy ground. A man shouted that they could see people ahead of them. Another said, “It’s him!”

Belle drew closer to make sure he heard her. “ _I_ love you.”

Rumple gaped. His brows furrow together. “W-what?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, not like that. I—” The words jammed in her throat along with a sob.

She felt a hand catch the elbow linked to the hand on his face. Utter disbelief became tender understanding in that lush, dark gaze. “ _Belle_ —”

The men and their horses were upon them. They circled them. They demanded identification. Belle retrieved her hand, as did Rumple, but while they diverted their attention to the soldiers closing in, they did not move away from each other.

“Lady Belle!”

Belle spun around. It was Gaston, looking imperious in his captain’s garb and on his black steed.

“What has happened?” he asked. “What has this monster done to you?”

“Nothing,” Belle snapped, her annoyance at such a question perfectly apparent. “No monster has done anything to me. I’m here to bring Rumplestiltskin back to the castle.”

“We just received word by pigeon that the castle has been attacked by one lizard-looking Titan.”

“Yes, I was there. And that Titan is indeed Rumplestiltskin.” Belle put no thought into taking hold of Rumple’s arm and locking it with hers. “I also know that the attack was made solely to rescue his family.”

“Rescue?” Gaston looked tempted to dismount, but his confusion kept him in place. Belle counted it as a blessing. “What need would he have to rescue anyone from his leaders?”

“I would have done the same knowing a Titan attack might be imminent, especially in light of recent hostility on our side!” Belle projected the last few words to all the soldiers.

A commander, a big man with a shaved head and trimmed goatee, sidled up on his horse next to the knight. “If anyone committed hostilities against orders, it was the man next to you, milady.”

“I know Rumplestiltskin would not have intentionally changed into his Titan form against orders.” Belle wanted to pause to keep her voice from going shrill, but if she stopped, they might not let her get in another word. “So either he was ordered to change, or tricked into doing so! And I’ll make sure my father hears of this.”

“He deserted his duty,” the commander said.

“He was not obligated to fight off Titans for you on a _recon_ mission!”

Rumple’s hand caught her elbow again. “Belle.”

The commander snickered. “He was assigned to _protect_ , Lady Belle. His duty was clear, as was his desertion. That demands immediate execution.”

Belle inched around until her back was touching Rumple’s chest. She could hear his panicked breathing. “It’s not a clear matter in the least. If he’s being accused of misconduct, he will face a tribunal.”

Her dissenter narrowed his eyes like a hawk sizing up prey. “This is no concern of yours.”

“It is my every concern as your superior. And I will be sure to report your impertinence.”

Belle was a little proud how those remarks riled up the commander. “You’d better leave before we’re forced to make you!”

“Hordor!” Gaston bellowed. “You will not address a lady so rudely. Remember yourself, or _I_ will report you.”

Despite being younger than the commander, he exuded a forceful presence that Belle usually saw in a boorish light. For once, she was indebted to it. But she made sure not to thank him just then. That could wait. Instead she raised her chin. Her feet squared her in front of Rumplestiltskin.

The commander bowed his head. He grumbled, “Forgive me, milady.”

“You can earn my forgiveness by escorting the two of us to the castle.”

Discomfort and displeasure ran rampant among the soldiers. However, the homeward trip went without hitches. Gaston rained her with questions about what happened. Belle was too willing to clear Rumple of as much fault as possible to let Hordor’s glowering skepticism stop her. Rumplestiltskin had taken a vow of silence. He too continually eyed Belle for a vastly different reason. It seemed wise to mostly ignore him so her face could stay a natural shade until they had a private moment again.

The one advantage of nobility that Belle was swift to exploit granted her audience with her father before the soldiers could give their story. Of course, Maurice was blustering over how Belle ran off with no word to him. She’d put herself in danger, etc., etc., and she could do little else but abide, wait for her moment to explain everything. He sounded ready to lock her in her room, and it pressured her into interrupting his lecture. It was hard speaking this way to her own father, who wasn’t that contemptible commander but seemed just as unwilling to hear her part unless she stood her ground. Good fortune smiled with an inspired idea. She told Maurice to summon the other nobles in residence for an emergency meeting. She wouldn’t accept refusal. To her relief, her father did not become irate, just flustered by her unforeseen burst of assertiveness.

In short order (no one could sleep properly even at this hour), the nobles were assembled. Belle quelled her resurging distrust of the Duke of the Frontlands long enough to make her case to them: Rumplestiltskin may have demonstrated questionable conduct, but his actions were in the context of coercion, mental stress and a protective instinct, and what casualties arose were accidental.

“I’m sure the people who lost loved ones in the attack will appreciate that fact,” said one baron.

“That he could not control how much damage he caused makes him even more dangerous,” said a count who also served as a general.

Belle conceded to these points but declared that she had a proposal.

Just before the meeting, she’d spoken for a minute with Maurice, daughter to father. “I need to know you will support me,” she’d said.

He’d sighed. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing? I couldn’t live myself if anything happened to you because of _him_. And what about Gaston? Your betrothal?”

Belle’s voice had softened. It was audible but lacked conviction. “This won’t interfere with that.”

“Sweetheart . . . can you be sure you’ll be safe? Let Gaston go with you. Or anyone who I can trust.”

“I trust Rumplestiltskin. So trust my judgment, please.”

She dearly wished she could rely on her own judgment through and through. Something did buoy her through her speech, and she let any questions of what or why slide away. With what care she could manage in a very limited span of time, Belle selected her words and made her case. At the end, the nobles agreed to vote on it. She had to leave them alone while they did. Maurice came to her with their decision.

Belle could barely breathe.

“You should tell him,” Maurice said. His finger brushed her cheek.

She nodded, tingling with anticipation, and headed for the dungeons.

* * *

Rumple was grateful for the new clothes, the simple but sufficient meal, the chance to wash and shave. More than all those together, gratitude for open air, sun, grassy earth and being alive to appreciate it swamped him. When Belle visited him last night and explained how she got him out of lifelong imprisonment or a death sentence, it had felt like a dream. Really, he’d expected to wake up to a bleaker truth. But his release from the dungeon and being required to stand outside the castle gate with an armed escort cast a stark spotlight on the less pleasant details. There were no guarantees he’d return home. This task served to expunge the penalty for his deeds. A blessing though this was compared to the alternatives, it would come with its own hardships. She had disclosed what details she could in the privacy of the cell, giving him an idea of the many miles they’d trek, the wrong turns they might take before they came back to familiar ground. But the minutiae was a molehill rather than a mountain last night. Surely no man could think all that rationally after what Belle had said in the forest. He’d been afraid to breach the topic. Milah wasn’t wrong. Fear had a powerful effect on him. It made him want to forget that strange, indescribably blissful moment.

He couldn’t dole out the words to even pose a simple question: Was it true? What did you mean? Do you still feel that way? Do I feel the same?

She had told him what would happen tomorrow, and when he said nothing, she’d nodded and bade him goodnight. Only when the barred door opened for her to leave did his tongue conjure up one magic word.

“Wait.”

She’d stopped. He’d stood. Suddenly they were face to face, and the invisible protective veil over Belle’s face fell. He couldn’t remember if Milah ever looked at him that way. He felt the gravity of her longing draw him closer. He let it, but for a hesitant second his hand salvaged a little distance. It caught her chin and jaw. The thumb grazed the corner of her mouth. It could have been a preamble, had not the guards sent on a stroll down the corridor return just then to bring her upstairs. His sigh had echoed hers. She’d scooped up his hand and planted a kiss in his palm. Then she’d left. He’d spent the night trying to sleep and think of his family while he itched with fire in his blood.

The morning was cool, not as bad as the previous night. Inside his new cloak and tunic he could feel the embers still cooking, ready for another flare. But his thoughts were primarily on Baelfire and what he’d say to Milah. As Rumple adjusted his glove cuff, he heard boots and clopping hooves on the wooden drawbridge behind him. He peered over his shoulder.

Belle was dressed in a long olive-green cloak and leading a copper-colored horse by the bridle. It differed from the dun-and-white stallion from yesterday. Oh, right. Philippe was at his hovel.

“Is he for me?” Rumple asked, half-joking.

“As a matter of fact, yes. We’ll have lots of territory to cover.” Belle beamed like the sun above. She handed Rumple the reins, then waved off the guards flanking him. “We’re ready to go. Thank you.”

Rumple watched amazed as they marched back over the bridge without a word. A sack on the saddle, pendulous with what had to be supplies seized his notice. He understood her meaning. Mostly.

“What about you?” he asked.

“We’ll spend the night at your house, remember? I’ll take Philippe with us when we go. Unless you think Milah sold him.” She winked.

Rumple laughed. “I’m more afraid she or Bae will be too attached to let him go.”

“I might let Bae keep him when we come back.” In her playfulness, Rumple could hear both sincerity and reluctance. Philippe must have been a loved, trusted horse for her to ride him into darkness and cold to catch a Titan. Her desire to spoil Baelfire moved him all the more because of it. Would Milah allow it, though?

The two of them walked together with his new friend Jean-Claude. It would be a few hours’ stroll to the village, leading Rumple to wonder if they shouldn’t ride. Perhaps the weight would have been too much. Perhaps Belle was not ready to share such intimate quarters with him.

She had been more willing last night when she came _inside_ the cell to talk.

A bubble of heat swelled. If he didn’t say something, Rumple would certainly rupture from the building pressure.

“Did you like Bae?” he asked.

“Oh, I liked him very much! He was pretty shy when I first met him with Milah, before your meet-up the other day. But he seems sweet. I . . . well, I was glad he wasn’t afraid of you. When, you know . . .”

Rumple nodded and quietly gulped. “Me, too.”

Her smile faltered, which worried him until she said, “Would you be against me getting to know him?”

“No, not at all!”  There came an awkward pause as Rumple froze with embarrassment. He’d said that much too eagerly. “I-I don’t know how Milah would feel, but I wouldn’t mind at all.”

“Why would Milah mind?” Belle asked.

“I . . . I don’t know. You’d have to ask.”

He expected the awkwardness to overtake them again. Belle was braver than him. “If it’s about what I said yesterday, I understand, but I swear I won’t do anything untoward.”

Urgency grabbed Rumple. He stopped short. Jean-Claude snorted at the abrupt delay. They were still within the limits of the town surrounding Belle’s castle. People were coming and going, but the noise of everyday activities for the serfs were no more intrusive than crickets in a bog. No one accosted them. It was like a ward protected Rumplestiltskin and Belle (and Jean-Claude) from the rest of the world.

Nevertheless, Rumple whispered. “It’s not that. You’ve been nothing but kind and good. Bae would love you.” That might not have been the best way to put it, all things considered. He squeezed the reins. His forefinger and thumb rubbed the leather at a pensive pace. “H-he’d like you a lot. He could always use another friend.”

“And you?” Belle tilted her head. Her eyebrows pinched upward, adorably concerned. “Do you still consider me a friend?”

He nearly blurted “of course,” but caught himself this time. It was a serious question deserving thought. Thinking produced no answer, however, only another question.

His nerves stood on edge. Facing the truth wasn’t as bad as facing down a Titan, by a small margin. “Did you mean what you said in the forest?”

Belle’s mouth dropped opened. Then, with a quick inhale, it pulled up in a courageous smile. “Yes. I did, and I still do.”

Shaky as he felt, Rumple was butter melting in summer, until Belle lowered her face and resumed walking. He followed while she talked.

“That’s why we must visit your family before we start our real journey. I won’t say or do anything more until it’s clear where you and Milah stand. You two have spent a long time apart. You should know before leaving that you’re going away as a husband. And—and even if you _aren’t_ , it doesn’t mean you should humor me. Your feelings are what they are, and I want you as a friend above anything else.”

Oh. Rumple sighed. Well, he did value her friendship. He treasured it. But was that all it was?

“I see,” he said, deciding to let the unspoken question die on the vine.

Belle halted again and looked back. Her gaze became a needle, ready to drive through any mask of falsehood. Rumple wanted to hide behind Jean-Claude, who didn’t appear intimidated. He must have been used to his mistress’s penetrating stares.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“N-nothing,” he said.

Jean-Claude snorted next to Rumple’s cheek. Rumple batted his nose away.

Belle tried not to smile. “Jean-Claude doesn’t believe you.”

“Yes, well, he hasn’t known me long, and he shouldn’t be so quick to make judgments.” He had to swat the horse’s nose a second time when the creature rudely bumped his ear. Jean-Claude gave an annoyed nicker and looked away, as though dismissing Rumple’s words.

“Rumple, I’m serious. Did I say something I shouldn’t?” Belle advanced a step. “How did you take what I said last night? Did it upset you? Please, tell me.”

Rumplestiltskin’s ears chose this opportunity to tune into the far-off chatter of serfs acting as passers-by. A few men and women glanced at them in what was likely harmless idleness. Rumple still noticed and winced at the possibility of being overheard.

“I’ll tell you once we’re alone.”

Belle screwed her face. “We _are_ alone.”

Rumple rolled his eyes, then pointed with them to the nearby populace.

She was not impressed by this excuse. Nevertheless, with a small smile Belle acquiesced. She walked on ahead. Rumple liked it that way. Marching behind granted him freedom to think without paranoia from being observed. It was a short length of road to the village wall, so no stupendous revelations dropped on him by the time they were safe from any meddling from serf, servant, soldier or nobleman. All he had was Jean-Claude and raw heat in his bones he’d been ignoring not only last night, but what had to be months, maybe years of denied feelings. He’d told himself that, his marriage vows aside, Belle was all-round too noble for him to taint with unfaithful thoughts. Besides, no woman, good or wretched, could supplant his love for his family. Up until last night, Belle and Milah had been figures of flawless crystal to him. He had rubbed down any imperfect nicks for the sake of his illusions; they had to keep his heart safe. Now the glass had shattered, and the results were staggering. Whereas Milah’s broken idol cut him open with its jagged shards, Belle’s brought out a slightly tragic, fragile yet dangerous beauty he could never have conjured in his imagination. And since then, the fire could not be smothered, nor could he protect his heart from going up in flames.

If she had the courage to tell him her feelings, he had to return the courtesy. If he could just get his tongue in order—

“Is this alone enough?” Belle called without looking back. “Should we send Jean-Claude away, too?”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Rumple said.

She giggled and shook her head. She was about to face him, and panic submerged Rumple. Somehow it inspired his mouth to action, albeit less gracefully than he would’ve liked.

“I do care for Milah. She’s Bae’s mother. She—she was the first person to love me after I lost my aunts. I don’t know if there’s still hope for us. Her and me. Maybe I don’t deserve her forgiveness. I heard what she said, the part I wasn’t supposed to. You told me not to take what she said to heart. But I have to because I failed them. I couldn’t protect her and Bae. I couldn’t be a real man and—I don’t want to disappoint you like I did her.”

Once he stopped talking, nothing could deter Belle. She turned around. There was pity, fear, sadness, but it all blended with a clear-sighted desire that scared Rumplestiltskin more than any hazy lovesick stare. His heart was pulsing in his mouth, his head, his fingernails. Speech became impossible.

The loss of eloquence didn’t stop his mind from running on with what he should say. Belle needed to know that as much as he wanted otherwise, she was better off giving her love to some knight or lord, or _anyone_ who showed more bravery in the face of those Titans. She deserved more than he, a taken man or not, could give her. He couldn’t even _speak_ now. Nor could he move without being made to. Fear stuck him to the spot. What woman could love a man who couldn’t act on his feelings or principles? Who could love a man who always acted _wrong_ despite his best intentions, made all the worse by the monster hiding inside him?

Belle could move. She could act. She could swoop in, a teary-eyed knight, and cradle his clean-shaven, slightly burned face in her hands. There was a pause for air, or strength, followed by hungry lips collapsing the distance into nothing. Even Rumple’s small gasp was muffled, and it let her mouth lock more firmly with his.

Her fingers moved back over his nape. One hand petted the split ends of his long hair. He couldn’t feel anything else except the dam breaking, the fiery flood ripping through his head and heart. Whenever their teeth allowed, his tongue dipped inside to meet hers, but the taste of her wet lips, the promise of spring after a parched winter, was all she needed to steal his breath. Blindly, he found his way to pulling her into a hug. His hands spread out over her shoulder blades. Her arms closed around him. In the midst of their mouths pulling at and delving into each other, Belle’s teeth pinched his lower lip. Through his pained moan, Rumple smiled. Belle backed up and whispered an apology. By now, her eyes had fogged over. He gave them both a moment to recover before taking charge of the next kiss.

The first sparks simmered down over minutes neither of them bothered to count. In the far back of his mind, Rumple knew he couldn’t turn from the course fate and foolishness, if this was foolishness, had set him on. Milah might well be relieved, if not thrilled to guess that another woman had already entered his affections. They should both have been free if it meant tasting happiness again. And he knew with Belle it would be more than happiness. When they finally disentangled, satisfied for now, Belle secured his hand in hers, a sign that wherever he went, she would be there with him, and vice versa.

But first they had to get Jean-Claude, who had wandered off to graze when Rumple dropped the reins. Laughed trickled out. Belle jumped ahead to grab the reins off the horse’s neck.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” She handed them back to Rumple. Her interest rested more with the knapsack she’d packed. She opened it and rifled through the books and maps that would lead them to the Dark One. Rumple expected her to pull one out so they could address what route they would take to the Dark Forest. Today wasn’t done with its surprises. Belle pulled out a pair of thin rungs that could have once belonged to a chair, a cream-colored sheet, and a pair of bright blue ribbons.

“There wasn’t any thread on hand,” she explained while showing him the items. “But you did say you were a spinner. You could spin Baelfire a spool when we get back.”

Stunned and reverent, Rumple touched the fabric. It was softer than any bed sheet he’s slept on. The ribbons glistened in the light. He could imagine them tied around Belle’s waist, attached to a dress that matched in color.

“H-how did—Belle, you didn’t—”

Belle ran her hand up and down his arm. “We need to give him hope. After I lost my mother, having the book she first read to me gave me the comfort she once gave. Only, this will give him something to look forward to. Because we _will_ succeed, and we’ll come home.” She stashed them back in the sack. Insecurity ghosted across her face when she looked at Rumple again. “Is that all right?”

Rumple twined Jean-Claude’s reins around his wrist, then snatched Belle at the waist. Belle burst into a giggle, which swiftly dissolved into more moan-filled kisses.

Jean-Claude was ready to throttle them to the ground just so he could get at more grass. The couple conceded to their steed’s restlessness, but after a quick snack they coaxed him to continue the trek to Rumple’s village.


End file.
